The Way Ahead
by KathyCastle
Summary: It is 10 years since James left the army and 9 years since he married Molly and moved to Cumbria. But what now for him and his family? Follows on from Reunion, with a time gap of several years.
1. Not just your father

He pushed a large plastic dinosaur into the remaining space at the top of the cardboard box, satisfied that he, as a rapidly maturing 17 year old, was making definite progress in packing up his childhood. His room at the cottage was tiny and he needed space for all the climbing, kayaking and mountain biking gear he had begun to accumulate since moving north full time. The magazine he had been reading, as he fell asleep the night before, had slipped under the bed and he paused as he returned it to the drawer, searching under a stack of other issues until he found a very well hidden, dog eared cardboard folder, clearly of some vintage. He sat down on the edge of his bed and looked at it. A female infantry soldier filled the front cover, her face disguised with camo cream. In the top right hand corner was a logo and beneath it, the words 'Be the Best'.

* * *

'Bloody hell Staff, he looks a bit familiar.'

'Doesn't he just, Brains, doesn't he just.'

'Na, couldn't be, could it?'

'Only one way to find out...'

He watched as, hesitantly, the tall teenager began to approach. He saw him stop, look at their stand, run his fingers through his curly, dark hair, knot his brows and turn as if to walk away. He seized his opportunity, 'Interested in joining up?' The boy jumped and turned to face him. He held out his hand, a smile warm with recognition spreading across his face, 'I'm Staff Sergeant Kinders.'

'Well, I'm still only 15 but, yeah, after school, I think so. Might gonna need to get some A Levels first though!'

He guided him towards the stand, 'This is Corporal Brown', another handshake, 'We're just here to answer your questions and explain the options, seriously no pressure.'

Brains spoke, 'So, do you know much about the army?'

'A little, my father was in for about 10 years and my step mum still is.'

He raised a knowing eyebrow, 'So... will it be officer or medic for you then?'

The teenager looked completely taken aback, 'Officer... I think. But...'

'Captain James was the best Captain we ever served under.'

Brains interjected excitedly, 'And Molls, I mean, Dawsey, sorry, Sergeant James, she's the nuts. One of the best medics the army has... and we know, we saw it first hand.'

'Oh. My dad won't speak about his time in the army now. He works with a lot of veterans and soldiers, like on that expedition, but he says his army life should stay in the past. Bo, she sometimes tells me things, but nothing from when she fist knew dad.. It was years later that I even realised that she was the same lady who was at the hospital just after his operation, who he said had saved his life, not that I knew what that meant when I was 7. I didn't even know about the Military Cross until a couple of years ago, when the army held a reception for the Annapurna Expedition. I live with my mum so I'd never seen Bo in dress uniform before. Dad started crying before we left the house and told her she was brilliant, just like he'd asked her to be on their first date. She just walked up to him, wiped away his tears and said, 'Sometimes, Bossman, you're such a massive Cockwomble.' I was pissing myself, although I had to leave the room when they started snogging. Euggghh.'

He and Brains both started to laugh.

'What are you laughing at medic?'

'Cockwombles, Sir.'

He laughed again.

'And I will have no hesitation in lobbing you out of the plane!'

The teenage boy looked on, somewhat bemused, as the two soldiers doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces as they tried desperately to squeeze out more words and phrases, the utterance of which only served to make them laugh even harder.

Having finally managed to collect himself, he looked up at the boy's quizzical brown eyes and started to explain, 'Your father called us all cockwombles when we were getting the pre tour photo done at Brize and your step mum started laughing. He went a bit overboard and told her that if she wasn't up to the job he would throw her out the plane! I don't think they hit it off that day! Actually, I've never been quite sure when they did hit it off, I always thought she was sweet on Smurf, God rest his soul.'

'Really?', replied Brains, 'I can tell you exactly when they hit it off. You lot don't open your eyes! Kept it to myself at the time but since they've been married for 7 years, I don't think anyone's going to care now. '

'What do you mean?'

'It was the day we put on the entertainment, you know.' Brains looked at him pointedly, trying to convey operational information he could not or would not speak in front of a civilian. Knowing precisely to what Brains referred, he nodded. 'Well, you were too busy dancing, Staff, and everyone else was singing but I noticed the body language the minute they walked onto that stage. He threw her a wink at one point too, I saw it and Smurf saw it, he just chose not to understand. You lot all assumed something was going on between her and the Welsh Wanker, she didn't correct you and I kept my mouth shut. Captain James was far too professional to contravene any army regulation, but I most definitely watched them fall in love over the course of that tour.'

'So she went AWOL to visit Captain James at the hospital?'

'Evidently so, ' Brains responded, nodding towards the now even more agog teen.

'Bloody hell, well they don't call you Brains for nothing and it's a bloody good job he didn't lob her out the plane!' He turned back towards the boy, 'She quickly proved she was more than up to the job, never met anyone like her and well, we all love her like a little sister.'

Brains spoke again, 'Listen mate, if you're half the officer your father was, you'll be a credit to the army, if you apply yourself like Dawsey, you'll also go far. But don't go into this lightly, try to get them to talk to you about their experiences, particularly your dad. It's not our place to tell you what happened and some things we can't say, but if you are going to join up, you need to go in with your eyes open. Molls and the Bossman have seen and done things you can't even imagine, you'd need to be able to cope with the same.'

'Take this', he said, handing him a cardboard folder full of leaflets about officer training and various regiments. 'You're still young, but get up your fitness, work hard at school and have a think about what regiment you fancy. Try to get any skills you can that will help your application.'

The teenager lifted his familiar brown eyes and looked at him, to Brains and back again, 'Thanks for this, Staff Sergeant Kinders, Corporal Brown, but please, if you see my dad and Bo, don't tell them anything, I want to explore this in my own time, I know things will be hard with him. He always encourages me to go to university and get a well paid desk job. Bo will be more understanding but I think she will worry too and God knows about Mum...'

'No worries, if you don't want us to speak to them about this, you have our word that we won't.'

Brains held out a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. 'I'm based at Catterick, so if you are up at your dad's let me know and we can do some fitness stuff or a mini exercise, anything like that.'

'Thanks, I might just do that, Corporal Brown.'

'Call me Brains, you're not in the army yet! One question though? Why do you call Molls Bo?'

The teenager grinned, looking even more like his father as he did so, 'They got married when I was 8 and it was amazing, like having a second, dare I say it, better mum. I think of her as a mother but I couldn't call her mum because mum would have been upset. So I called her Bonus Mum, because that's what I felt she was. But I was 8 and easily bored so it just became Bo.'

'That woman has more names that I've had hot dinners,' chuckled Brains. 'Well good luck mate and seriously, keep in touch, ' he held out his hand.

He did the same, 'See you again I hope.'

He watched as Sam James walked back across the school hall and out the door.

'What do you reckon then Staff?'

'I think pigs will fly before that boy goes to university and gets a well paid desk job.'


	2. Glimpses of the past

He returned the cardboard folder to its hiding place, feeling none the wiser. His father had been hassling him about his UCAS application but he kept stalling and Bo kept steering the conversation away from the topic, as if she instinctively knew. Losing his mother had been unbearable but Bo had just been there for him, quietly and patiently and the decision to move to Cumbria had been an easy one, although he knew it had hurt his step father. But Bo came as part of a job lot and he had always loved his trips to see Aunty Belinda and Uncle Dave, Nan and all of Bo's siblings, much to his mother's chagrin. It didn't seem to matter that he wasn't related to them in any way, he was their daughter's step son and Nan had sat him down very early on and told him, in no uncertain terms, that this meant he was family. Bella was his favourite cousin, although he never dared tell her, or anyone else, that he had always had a huge crush on her and, encouraged by Bo, she was now in her final year at Leeds University, finishing her degree in chemical engineering.

Bo had gone on a short tour not long after he had moved in, it had been hard, but neither his dad nor himself would hear of her not going. 'Go and do the job you're bloody good at,' his dad had said, so she had gone, tearfully leaving him with a huge hug and a man who he suddenly realised, he didn't really know. It had been a relief a few hours later when they heard the local minibus stop outside and the unmistakable tones of his Nan had filled the house. His dad had rolled his eyes, but he knew that secretly those two loved each other more than the vast majority of in laws. His dad had protested about her arrival, immediately insisting he reimburse the train fare and telling her she couldn't just drop everything in London for him. Having been ushered upstairs, from the landing, he could hear that his Nan was having none of it.

'Look 'ere mate, you may be able to lead soldiers in Afghan and men up mountains, but I doubt very much you've had much experience in getting a teenager out of bed and off to school. No offence mate, but you weren't really around much when he were growing up, so wind your neck in and let me 'elp until Mol's back. Besides, she's been telling us how the charity's just gone into the stratosphere, so I doubt very much you can cope with running that and looking after your grieving son on your own.'

'Maybe I can't look after him, maybe I should send him back to Peter in Bath?'

'He ain't a sodding parcel! He's your son and he thinks the frigging sun shines out of your sodding arse. You've already made the decision to give up them expeditions so you can be a proper dad to 'im and he wants to live here with you and Mols, thinks the pair of you are 'eroes, so step up to the plate and get on with it. We're a family, we'll get through this as a family.'

His father's reply was inaudible but his Nan must have got her way as she stayed until a couple of weeks after Bo retuned. He had loved every minute of her visit, as, it would seem, had George the minibus driver!

His dad sometimes found it difficult to hit the mark with discipline but Bo, as ever, acted as a counterbalance. He had wanted to go off into the hills when he first arrived but his father had become overly concerned about him being on his own. Before any real argument could begin, Bo had looked up from her book and simply said, 'This ain't East Ham mate, he's not going smoking and drinking on street corners. Take my phone, take food and clothing and ring us immediately if anything happens or you just need picked up. It's a lovely day, enjoy it.' His dad, realising he had been overruled, just nodded in agreement and sprung into action to find a suitable rucksack, compass, map and food. The next day he had taken him into town and kitted him out with his own decent gear. It was almost as if his father could only articulate his love through actions, while Bo just said it like it was.

He looked over to the wall above his bedside table, where a laminated centrefold from a magazine was neatly pinned. A huge photograph filled the page, overlaid by white text on the right hand side. The picture was of a group of people standing on a Himalayan mountain side, the sun rising behind them. They were formed into a V shape, all adopting unsmiling postures. The man at the head of the V, nearest the camera, stood with his arms folded across his chest, his steely eyes set into chiselled, tanned features and his hair an explosion of unkempt dark curls. 'Healing Mountains: Jon Griffith meets the enigmatic Charles James'.

In truth, he didn't even need to read the text any more, he knew every word on that page by heart, the names of everyone included in the photograph's caption. He had researched who Jon Griffith was and looked at all the photographs he had taken on his father's expeditions. Clearly it was not just Sam who found his father an enigma, but at the same time, he felt this article showed him a side he didn't know, tantalising glimpses into a past he wasn't part of. Bo knew though, even his mother had had to admit that Bo and his father had a synergy few would understand. He lay back on his pillow and began to recite the article.

_Celebrated Alpinist, Charity founder, army veteran, husband and father. Just five ways to describe a man I first met in 2016 when he was part of a multi national expedition to put up a hard winter route on the Aiguilles Rouges, which I had been asked to document photographically. The decision by Leo Houlding to include this unknown Brit was badly received by the more 'established' French members of the party, some going as far as to relinquish their positions, amid accusations of favouritism and incompetence. But Leo Houlding stuck to his guns and Charles James remained on the team. Self assured, observant and immediately likeable, as the expedition began, it became readily apparent that this man was not only a talented mountaineer, but also the epitome of a team player and when Leo himself was forced to retreat as a result of serious illness, the whole venture then threatened by vicious in-fitting and poor weather, it was he who emerged as a natural leader, totally unflappable under pressure and with a remarkable ability to mould wilful, independent and at times selfish, mountaineers into a well oiled and extremely efficient machine. In the end, the team put up not one, but three new winter routes and the expedition passed into the annals of climbing history. As much as for his incredible ability to bring a team together in the face of adversity, as for the routes themselves, Charles James was nominated for a Piolet d'Or award that year and is now considered as one of the finest British mountaineers of his generation._

_Recently I managed to catch up with the man himself at his Derwent Water cottage._

_JG: Earlier this year you led the British Army expedition to Annapurna I to commemorate Henry Day's 1970 ascent. How did that come about?_

_CJ: I run a charity offering rehabilitation to those injured during active service, through hillwalking, climbing and mountaineering. We also encourage serving personnel to come to us to improve their skill set, to work with the veterans and to gain outdoor leadership qualifications that they can use within their own units, after they leave, or better still, within our organisation. _

_I'd been working quite closely with the guys based at Catterick for about two years and obviously had been involved in Alpine and Himalayan expeditions myself, when someone muted the idea of an attempt on Annapurna I. To me, the idea represented everything I had been trying to achieve with the charity and I agreed immediately, but it took a tough selection process and about a year of training before we had a team I was certain could summit._

_JG: Many of those who took part in the expedition say that it has changed their lives, that they no longer feel that they are defined by their injuries. Many say that this is in no small part down to your own abilities as a leader. What makes you so good in the face of adversity?_

_CJ: (He looks embarrassed). I didn't drag them up that mountain, they used their own abilities to get them there. I helped them train properly and I gave advice, but ultimately they could have got there without me. As for my skills in adversity, well, I was in the army, I was trained to lead, simple as that._

_JG: When I first met you and asked what you did prior to becoming involved in serious mountaineering, you told me that you had seen a bit of the world and done a few things. Why are you so reticent to talk about your army career, when it seems you are also held in extremely high regard in those circles? (At this point Charles' wife appears with a tray of coffee and cake and tells us she is off fell running with the lads as they need 'a proper rinsing')_

_CJ: Our centre is literally 100m down the road, we bought a farm when it became vacant and with the help of the National Park Authority and with some funding with the MOD, got proper facilities set up. We now have a 20 bed bunk house, the Dylan Smith Centre and can accommodate pretty much any kind of injury._

_JG: Watching his wife jog down the road, I ask Charles how they met._

_CJ: In Afghanistan, well technically at Brize Norton, but I was being a right bastard at that point so I don't count it. (He appears to continue thinking as he sips his coffee). People often ask about my army career and I don't really want to talk about it. It's 6 years since I left so it's in the past. I just don't believe I'm any kind of hero, ultimately I made some pretty serious mistakes and I can't forgive myself for that (he nods towards his wife), she's the hero round here, although she doesn't see it like that either! (Sergeant Molly James was awarded the Military Cross at the end of her first tour of Afghanistan, after risking her own life by crossing a mine field (and being caught in a minor blast) and the presence of a sniper, to save the life of a wounded Private. More recently, she has been awarded an OBE for services to combat medicine. It has been said that her pioneering work on improving battle casualty care has saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives throughout the world. It is difficult to believe that she is still only 26 – Charles is 35)_

_JG: But you had your own personal reasons for starting the Healing Mountains charity?_

_CJ: (He looks very uncomfortable as he prepares to speak) I resigned from the army because I had been too badly injured to return to active duty. Molly saved my life, actually. But when I got out of hospital I was a tortured soul, I didn't know what to do or where to go, the only thing that kept me sane was being outside, being physical. I dug holes all over my parents garden, just to keep fit and keep active. But then I came up here again, I had had an Aunt who lived nearby and when I was at boarding school and my parents were away, I was farmed out to her. It was idyllic. I saw an advert for expedition leaders in _Climb _and I realised that I could combine the thing I was good at, leadership, with the things I love, mountains. So we moved up here and I worked really hard with some guys I knew until I was fit. I met Leo Houlding through them and after climbing together for fun for a few weeks in the Dolomites, he asked me to join the Aiguilles Rouges expedition, well you know the rest._

_JG: And what about the charity?_

_CJ: Well, the sense of achievement after Aiguilles Rouges was immense, not the Piolet d'Or nomination, that was just embarrassing, but the personal achievement of going from the man who was a wreck, to the man who had helped his team surpass their aims. Physically and metaphorically I felt like I was standing on top of the world when I reached that summit. As soon as I came home, I made contact with some people who had helped me with my rehabilitation at Headley Court and with some of my old unit over at Catterick and the project began. I thought when I decided what to do next, that I would perhaps end up running some kind of outdoor centre up here, but I never thought I would do the expeditions I have done, nor that the charity would expand exponentially like it has. I'm living proof that you can achieve anything if you want it enough and that's the confidence I want the guys to feel when they leave us._

_JG: You have a son from a previous marriage, what does he make of his mountaineering dad?_

_CJ: He's a 13 year old boy, mainly he just grunts! He's always lived with his mum because I was, and still am, away from home a lot, but he seems proud of me, his mum says he keeps anything he sees about me in the press. I'd really like to get him more into climbing and walking though, I hope it's something we might enjoy together._

_JG: Would you like him to follow in the remarkable footsteps of you and Molly?_

_CJ: (He thinks long and hard). I think I would prefer it if he worked in a bank!_

_At this point a sprightly Molly runs past 'Laps, Boss' she shouts over the wall. Twenty seconds later, a far less energetic group of about 10 men follow behind. Charles stands up, 'Come on lads, you're the bloody instructors! Have some human decency and put some bloody effort in.' As he passes, a rather red faced man with vibrant ginger hair shouts back, 'Only if you get some new bloody lines, Boss.' Charles sits down and turns to me with a grin, 'Proper rinsed.', he says._

_To round off the interview I ask him his plans for the future._

_CJ: To be honest the charity keeps me very busy at the moment and I'm finding it hard to find the time for own training and expeditions, although I do have a trip to the Lofoten Islands with Leo and few other guys in the pipeline. Nothing hardcore, we'll see when we get there. Oh, and Leo emailed me a picture of the Aiguilles Rouges the other day, with a big red line drawn up the face, so I think he probably wants to go and do that! I'm 35 now, I'll give things another couple of years and then probably concentrate on the charity... (he looks to Molly approaching for the 3rd time), and my family, of course._

_Speeding down the M6 towards London later that night, I could not help but reflect on this remarkable man. To me, at least, he remains a fascinating enigma._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began typing. 'Fancy a few routes tomorrow? Forecast looks good.'.

The phone beeped in response almost instantly, 'Brains', displayed prominently on the screen. 'I'm only next door, you lazy get, next time, put on your trainers and come and ask! But yeah, totally up for that, Mansfield and Fingers keen too.'

'Great, what time?'

'0830 here at Smurf's? BTW Fingers says have you spoken to your dad and Molls yet? Cos he's going to start withholding climbing partnership if you don't do it soon.'

'No, I don't know what to say. Chat tomorrow?'

'No worries, must be good to have 7 surrogate older brothers when you need advice!'


	3. Unearthing history

**Sorry for the delay in updating, I had to go to 'that London' to speak at a conference. I may have also visited the AncelorMittal Orbit and taken a walk past the Nespresso shop in Regent Street on the way to the venue. My (non Our Girl watching) friend was very amused! I will try to write the next chapter when I can but it's all going off with uni at the moment so there might be a bit of a delay.**

* * *

Pushing the dinosaur box before him, as his head and shoulders passed through the hatch, he was utterly dismayed by the sight of the loft that lay before him. Boxes were strewn everywhere, their contents spilling over the plywood floor. He thought it all rather un-military. He continued up the remainder of the ladder, climbed through the opening and considered where best to start.

Surveying the carnage, he noticed that the side of one of the cardboard boxes had split open, allowing the photographs and pieces of paper contained within it to escape. He began to carefully pick them up, conscious that they represented the once treasured memories of his parents (as he collectively thought of Bo and his father) and deserved a more suitable home than the dusty floor of the cottage attic. Gathering them up, his attention was caught by his father's familiar, florid writing, with an unknown, messier hand above.

'Boss, thought you would appreciate this memento of your vocal majesty! Smurf, Feb 2014.'

Underneath, written by his father, were the names of those in the photograph.

'Back row, L - R: Dangles, me, Molly (this was underlined twice with little scrolls at the end of each line).  
Front road, L - R: Mjr Beck, Kinders (Eggy), Brains, Mansfield Mike, Fingers, Smurf, Nude Nut, Baz Vegas.'

'2 section provide the entertainment, 20th February 2014.'

'Cpt Charles James, 23rd March 2014.'

He turned the photograph over and looked at the group captured in it. His father stood on a stage, his arms around Bo and Dangles, hands gently resting on their shoulders. His stance was open, relaxed and above all, he oozed confidence. He was younger, his features not yet weathered by life, or the years spent in harsh mountain air and he was happy. They all were. Bo stood close to his father, their fondness for one another almost imperceptible but their postures betraying feelings, that with hindsight, it was easy to spot.

He studied the image again, his three best friends looked barely older than he was now, their faces not yet masking experiences that they would rather forget, that they hid from him through laughter and jokes. At some point in his life, he had met every one of those pictured. All accept one. But he too was so familiar, his cocky face beaming, as it did, from the wall of the centre. He put the photo to one side, returning his concentration to the mess on the floor. As he worked, quickly and efficiently, he fished a couple of other images from the melee and set them with the first.

Lost in his task, he was finally disturbed by the sound of Bo shouting him for dinner. Hurrying to move the last few boxes, he stood up, smiled proudly at his efforts, grabbed the photographs and disappeared back down the ladder.

* * *

He reflected on the circumstances that had brought him to Cumbria, how timing had meant that he was allowed the summer to adjust, as well as anyone could, to his whole world being turned upside down. He had sought solace in the surrounding hills, his Nan always ensuring that he had plenty to eat as he roamed the fells. He chuckled at the memory of his father's face as he emptied the mountain of chocolate bar and biscuit wrappers out of his rucksack one evening, brows knotting into an expression that could have been taken as concern. Coming down stairs the next morning, at his place at the table, he had found a battered stainless steel flask, an even more battered red Sigg water bottle and tuppaware box, now more gaffer tape than plastic. An apple and a green banana guard sat on top. As his Nan entered, she smiled, reached into her apron pocket and slid a Twirl across the table. 'Don't worry,' she had said, 'I got a secret stash he don't know about.'

But, as much as he loved his Nan and as much as his dad tried to show he cared in his own unique ways, he had been lonely when he arrived. He knew his friends in Bath found it hard to know what to say and that for some it was a case of out of sight, out of mind. Walking made him feel better, but he longed for someone to share the experience with, or to be able to articulate how much he loved and respected his father on the very rare occasions that hey sat together on a cold fell top, sharing a packet of Jaffa Cakes his father naively thought his Nan didn't know about. As special as he knew his family were, what he had really wanted at that time were some friends of his own.

On a morning when he had woken feeling bluer than most, he was intrigued by a commotion outside the cottage, the distinctive sound of his Nan's voice and her laughter audible through his partially open window. Listening further, he could hear that she was with several men, but unable to hear what was being said, he shrugged, rolled onto his side and pulled the duvet over his ear. Suddenly he had become aware of his name being called, together with an order to get downstairs immediately. Opening his eyes, he had looked up to see his Nan standing, hands on hips, in the bedroom doorway, adopting a stance which told him that disobedience was not an option. She had held out his hoody as he climbed out of bed and slipped his feet into some flip flops.

'Fuck me, he wasn't fucking joking was he?'

'Like going back in fucking time!'

'I know!...I mean seriously, fuck me...'

Still half asleep, he had not been able to understand why the two unfamiliar men were looking at him so strangely and more to the point, he could not comprehend exactly what he had done to deserve a shower of expletives. He had felt vulnerable and sad, that he was the butt of a joke he did not understand. Smiling nervously, he had felt a huge wave of relief when a third individual joined the group.

'Fuck sake guys, stop staring at the poor bloke like he's got three heads, he doesn't have a scoob what you're on about! Sam! Great to see you. How you doing? I know that's a shit question, but we were gutted for you when we heard.'

The others had chorused in agreement, the ginger man holding out his hand,

'I'm Mansfield Mike, although I was actually born in Derby, I work at the centre as the chef. Knew these cockwombles in the army. Sorry if we seemed like dicks then.'

A second, slightly taller man, with a strong Mancunian accent had then spoken,

'I'm Fingers, Boss has fixed it for Brains and me to do a year long secondment with the centre as instructors so we'll be around a fair bit.'

'Anyway, time to get your kit on, I've gotta be back by 3 to start dinner. 32 covers tonight.'

He smiled as he recalled his confusion, 'Kit?' He had asked.

'We're going climbing,' Brains had responded, 'we'll sign you out a harness and shoes from the centre, Mansfield's got an imperial fuck ton of leftover vol-au-vents for lunch, you just need to throw on some loose fitting trousers you aren't too bothered about and we're sorted... Get to it then!'

Interpreting it as the order that it clearly was and about to obey, he had hesitated as he noticed Mansfield still staring at him intently, shaking his head and smiling as he did so. After a few seconds he spoke,

'Has anyone ever told you that you look _exactly _like your father?'


	4. Under the wing

Lying in the sun on that June day, he had felt truly happy for the first time in weeks. He was part of a team, he finally felt as if he belonged. It didn't seem to matter that Fingers and Mansfield had never met him before, they had accepted him immediately. Drifting off to sleep, a content smile across his face, he had been roused by a vol-au-vent bouncing off his head.

'Brains here tells us you spoke to him about joining the army last year? Gonna need to get you fit if you're serious, reckon you've got about a year before you'll need to do your Sandhurst application.'

Sitting up, he had realised that they were all looking at him, deadly serious, for the first time all day.

'Errm, yeah, I want to be an officer like my dad.' Self consciously he looked at his feet and avoided their gaze.

'Then we'll help you. It's tough to get in, but I reckon if you're half the man your father is, you'll do well.'

He had slowly raised his eyes to meet Fingers', 'Really?'

'Of course! You're dad and Molls are like family to us, that means you are too. Plus your Nan told us to look after you...'

After a comfortable pause, during which all three of them had sat silently taking in their surroundings, Brains had spoken, 'Did you ever speak to Molls and the Boss? About their time in the army, I mean?'

'I tried, but he, especially, just shuts me down. He'll tell me nothing. I don't even really know how you know him, beyond that you were all in Afghanistan.'

Mansfield, with a mouth full of vol-au-vent had begun to reply, 'Yeah, hewasourCaptainoutthere.'

'Swallow,' Brains had barked.

'Steady on mate, you ain't _my_ Sarge!... I said... he was our Captain out there, on our first tour. Molls was the medic, battle casualty replacement.'

'But what happened? Why won't he tell me, or anyone else about it?'

Brains had deliberately avoided his gaze, 'Look, we want to tell you but it isn't our place and we aren't about to get on the wrong side of your dad. Sorry. He'll have to tell you himself, but maybe he never will. I don't know how he'll take you joining up either, but if that's really what you want and I can help you get there, then that's what I'll do. We all will.'

* * *

That summer had been idyllic, his grief diminishing every day, as Sergeant Brown, Corporal Stevens and Ex-Private Wood involved him in their lives. Wherever they went, it was assumed that he would follow, whatever they were doing, he was part of. He assisted on courses, carrying ropes, making up numbers or helping wherever he could. He played the casualty for rescue training, he undertook challenges devised by Brains on the advice of several other officers that he knew, they went on long hikes, kayaked to Keswick for supplies, swam out to the small island owned by his dad, ran miles across the fells carrying increasingly heavy packs, but mostly they climbed, whenever the rock was dry and they had a few hours to spare. On wet days, he hung around the kitchen and got under Mansfield's feet, until eventually, he had been put to work as a commis chef, something, that it was discovered, he also had a talent for. And as the weeks turned to months, those around him began to notice a significant change.

'You blokes have done wonders for that boy. Warms me heart to see it. I don't see a grieving teenager anymore, I see a confident young man with a bright future ahead of him. In fact...'

'He gets more like his Dad every day?' said Fingers. Nan could only nod in agreement.

But it was not just his extended family and the visitors to the centre who had noticed the emergence of this affable young man, he had been somewhat surprised, while helping Fingers rig up some ropes during an 'Introduction to Climbing' session, to see his father marching towards them. Unsure how to react, he had nervously stood to attention.

'Sam,' he had said, 'Single Pitch Award this afternoon?'

'Yes dad?'

'I don't want you working on it.'

'Oh,' he had replied, his disappointment palpable.

'I've arranged for you to be one of those assessed. You more than meet the criteria. The boys have logged everything you've been doing and came to me about it last week. And next week we've got a UKCC Level 1 paddlesport course, you're doing that too, with Mansfield.'

Not knowing quite what to say, he had looked up at his father and simply said 'Thanks.'

As his father had started to walk away, he had stopped, taking a step back towards him. 'Can you also give your bank details to Jean in the office? By my reckoning, the charity owes you about 6 weeks of trainee instructor pay.'

Sometimes, he and the boys (as they were collectively known by themselves and everyone else) forgot that they were almost 30, while he was only 16. It didn't seem to matter day to day, but occasionally it had got them all into trouble, particularly when alcohol became involved. One night, they had all gathered in the staff quarters, enjoying a hearty stew that Mansfield had prepared. As they enjoyed the warm, wholesome food, Fingers had produced some bottles of real ale, muttering something about his Nan and George the Bus getting them cheap from a bloke at the brewery. Despite protesting that he was too young to drink, he had been handed a bottle and once initially lubricated, had gladly accepted several more.

'We need to find you a nickname,' slurred Fingers, as he paraded around the kitchen, a bamboo cane under his arm in place of a pace stick, the upturned saucepan on his head, acting as his dress cap, 'a true soldier always has a nickname.'

Mansfield, swaying gently from side to side, had screwed up his eyes in an attempt to focus and pointed at him across the table, 'you could be... you could be... oh fuck...' he said, trailing off with the effort of thought.

From the corner, Brains piped up, 'well, you know what Nan calls us?'

Fingers swivelled on his heel and looked at him, 'The lads?'

'Better than that.''

'Musketeers,' slurred Mansfield, his head falling forwards, landing on the table with a thud.

Fingers looked at Brains again, 'She calls us the Three Musketeers, which means...''

'...he must be'

'Dogtanian,' said Mansfield into the wood.

'No you twat, that was just his name in the cartoon! It's d'Artagnan, you fuckmuppet.'

Fingers had grinned and marched over to where Sam sat, holding out his hand, 'Nice to make your acquaintance d'Artagnan.'

Steadying himself with the chair he had shaken his friend's hand, 'No worries Aramis..., now, is there any more of that fucking beer left?'

'WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU COCKMUPPETS BEEN DOING TO MY SON?!,' an irate cockney voice had demanded, causing him instinctively to sit bolt up right and for Fingers to jump out of his chair and try to salute, staggering backwards and landing in Brains' lap.

'Cockmuppet,' giggled Mansfield into the table.

'I SAID, WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TO MY SON?'

Brains pushed Fingers to his feet and stood up himself, 'We just had a few drinks Sarge, after tea. Maybe a few too many?'

'WELL I CAN SEE THAT! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? SOMETIMES I THINK YOU FORGET HE'S ONLY 16.'

'Yes Sarge,' said Fingers, 'really sorry Sarge, won't happen again Sarge.'

'16!' chuckled Mansfield.

Bo had hauled Sam to his feet, but as he prepared himself for a proper bollocking, he was sure he saw the hint of a smile around her eyes. She had pushed him towards the door, before turning back to Fingers who was trying desperately not to fall over as he saluted her.

'You fucking bellends, proper rinsed you then! I did much worse when I was 16. Better in here with his surrogate brothers than out in the middle of East Ham with a load of dirty slappers. Just a bit more moderation next time, yeah and for fuck sake, don't let his dad catch you, else you definitely will be for the high jump.' She looked at Mansfield, his head and arms sprawled across the table, 'and will one of you muppets please put him to bed? He's got 40 squaddies to feed in the morning!'

As he made his way out of the building and back towards the cottage, he heard Fingers and Brains dissolve into fits of laughter.

The remainder of 'the lads' appeared at various points throughout that summer, each treating him in exactly the same way as the Musketeers did. Some were now quite senior in the army, others had apparently left many years before, but nothing seemed to break the bond that they all shared, a bond that he surmised, had been formed as a result of the events that no one was willing to share. It fascinated him to see the way they talked of his father, the regard in which they held him and the protectiveness that they all showed to Bo. And it seemed to him, that his mere association with his parents immediately granted him the same treatment, although Baz Vegas and Nude-Nut told him it was hard not to call him Sir, particularly when they were drunk or especially tired. But it was on a fell run up Cat Bells that he had been made to truly feel like he too was one of the lads. Standing in a long line, admiring the late summer view, Kinders had turned to Dangles,

'It's nice to be 8 again,' he had said.

Sam had looked at him curiously, unsure what he meant.

'Agreed,' Dangles responded.

From the end of the line he heard Fingers chuckle, 'Only he's much less Welsh.'

'And definitely less of a wanker...'

They all stood in silence for a moment, 'Rest in Peace Smurfoid,' Nude Nut offered, holding his water bottle to the sun, 'We miss you buddy.'

'Who are we?' shouted Kinders, 'The Under Fives,' sang the others.

'You and all, d'Artgnan,' prompted Brains.

'Who are we?' Kinders called again, only this time, all 8 of them replied.


End file.
